The Shards
by SynapticTransferSystem
Summary: Having lost his faith, his moral compass, Castiel spent wandering on Earth aimlessly for years until an old ally reappears his life to give him a mission. In his search, Castiel finds surprise waiting for him.
1. Prologue

Prologue:

His coat rustled when Castiel stepped out the darkness of the night to the cocooning circle of the light from the dim street light that stood on the side of the street. He craned his neck to look up to the low grassy hill a half-mile ahead and there stood a lovely two-story house. It was small but cozy and welcoming with the pale blue walls that contrasted perfectly the navy window shutters and doors, complimenting the dark grey tiles of the roof.

It was a house that Dean would have liked to make fun of it. A Marta Stewart's wet dream, Dean had said once when he compared the houses in the suburbs from one old hunting case and Castiel wondered if Dean would've still thought that way if he'd seen this particular house.

He squinted his eyes, discerning the detail easily through the lit window of the house when an ordinary human would had trouble seeing but Castiel wasn't human—not anymore—and his sight surpassed far more, in this plane or the other.

Through the window, Castiel found a Sam's gigantic length moving around the table, setting the plates on the table, his features serious and distant, as if deep in thought. Castiel could tell it wasn't pleasant musings.

Sam looked better. His face was no longer gaunt or sickly and the color of his face had finally returned after all these years. His hair was still long, hanging front of his eyes and he had put weight, Castiel noted, muscular it seemed. Despite the dark thoughts coloring on the hunter's face, he looked less burdened, less hard lines and less something cold shuttering over his eyes but Castiel knew that Sam would never be fully okay.

The troubled look cleared from Sam's face when a woman stepped into the angel's view and his face brightened with a smile that lit within the man. Castiel watched Sam lean down to kiss the woman and hug her.

The angel almost smiled but he frowned instead when he sensed something shifted and rippled—an impending arrival of a presence on this plane.

"This peeping-tom is getting old, even for you." A familiar English voice spoke behind him.

The angel turned to see a former King of the Hell emerge from the night to stand next to him, usually unapologetically sharp in dark suit, gleaming leather shoes and complimentary tie that matched his dressing shirt.

"Crowley." He greeted.

"Cas, Cas, Cas," Crowley chided, dragging the name with each vowel, "You have tasted humanity for a while. Don't you know by now that this stalkerish behavior is rather disturbing and bit creepy?"

"As opposed making ten-year deals to an unsuspecting poor people?"

Crowley snorted, "Trust me, they're far from unsuspecting people."

The angel returned his gaze to the window. Sam was sitting now, talking animatedly to the woman but Castiel found himself distracted. He could feel Crowley watching him, his gaze heavy and intent on his face and somehow it irritated the angel.

"I haven't seen you for seven years. Why are you here?"

"Oh, come on, can't an old chum like me come to see a holy friend such as you—wings and all?"

"You can," Castiel said, "If we were friends to begin with."

"Not even after I saved the world?"

"Not even." The angel agreed levelly.

"Touchy." Crowley muttered with a smirk. "Well at least I tried the pleasantries but I'm afraid it's not my strong suit."

Castiel turned to look at him, his voice flat, "What do you want, Crowley?"

"I have a proposition for you."

The angel tensed. The conversation sounded too familiar for his taste and the memory snapped as terrible déjà vu through his mind's eye where Castiel stood in the lawn, watching Dean raking the leaves at Lisa's.

The tension in Castiel body didn't go unnoticed by Crowley "Don't ruffle your feathers. I'm not here to hash out old deals. It's not like that."

"Then what is like?" His voice was cold.

"I know it's rather unorthodox considering our long, sordid and tantalizing history," Crowley wiggled his eyebrows, "But I assure you, it's for your benefit as much for mine." He paused for a dramatic effect, "I need your help to kill the demons for me."

Castiel frowned, "You must be mistaken. There are no demons here, not for years."

"I would agree with you there but they're not ordinary hell-bound demons. No fire and brimstone." Crowley said, "They're born here, on earth, not from hell. Somehow, someone had found a way deforming human souls into a demon without the help of hell."

The angel stared at the former King of the Hell for a long tense moment, and then he said crossly, "That's not possible."

"I assure, it's entirely possible—difficult but possible."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I felt like sharing."

"Crowley." Castiel growled and there was a threat behind that single word.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine. If you must know, I don't want demons to roam on earth any more than you would."

His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, "But you're a demon."

"I _was_ a demon." He corrected with a shrug, "I might have a quarter of it but I'm more human than demon and there's a reason why I shut that gate of hell for good."

"You never told me that reason." Castiel looked up at Crowley with a quizzical tilt of his head, "I wondered."

Crowley smiled bitterly and jerked his head to direction of Sam's house. "If you want to know, go ask Moose. He knows better than anyone."

His eyes were suddenly saucers for a moment, and he tried for a moment and failed not to look at Sam's house, "I'm uncomfortable asking him."

Crowley lifted his eyebrow at this and moseyed closer, "So Moose is right," His voice was heavy with curiosity, "You won't talk to anyone."

"I'm talking to you." The angel said curtly.

"You bloody know very well that's not what I mean."

"Since when you talk to Sam?"

The former demon's single eyebrow rose up, "Since he summons me almost yearly to keep abroad on the supernatural business." He told him, "He says you don't respond his summons, his call or even his prayers."

The angel flinched and looked away.

"And yet you are here, watching over him. Why?" A small pause, "Because of Dean?"

Castiel's jaw tightened.

"Ah, I see." Crowley merely said to fill the space in the silence.

The angel's attention returned to narrow his eyes at him, "If you're keeping touch with Sam, why didn't tell him about this? He's hunter."

"_Retired_ hunter." He pointed out, "Sure, he makes few calls, cover the other hunters' asses, do heavy research and assign cases—the old, miserable drunk would be so proud."

"Sam wouldn't say no."

Crowley grinned, "Would you let him say yes?"

Castiel's dark glower that would scorch the ocean through the depth was his answer enough.

"Admit it; you'll soon burn my eyes out if you let the likes of me find a help from Moose. You won't let him to do heavy lifting."

"Why you don't do the 'heavy lifting' yourself?"

"Please, I'm not the demon I was." He scowled, "I can't go out there and beat my own drums like I used to. Did it occur to you are my best line of defense—no, my only defense?"

Castiel pondered for a moment, looking across the street and the highway beyond to his right. "I can't be your only defense."

"Unfortunately, you're it. After we closed Hell, I'm not at the top dogs anymore. I don't have much asset over the usual monsters or enough power to shut down the earthbound demons."

"I shall I assume this matter proposition results ulterior motive from you?"

"No hidden agenda." Crowley shrugged. "I just want those demons gone. Vamoosed."

The angel looked skeptically at him, "I find that difficult to believe. If there something I learned from you, nothing ever comes free and there's always price at the end of the day."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid the price of the deal is going be us. It's not going be easy, stopping those people—assuming they're human—who's creating these demons in first place."

He stared unblinking at Crowley, "How you do know?"

"Call it a gut feeling." Crowley leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave lower, "Beside last time someone created demon on earth was Lucifer, the first being Lilith." The angel flinched at the name, "With that regard, it's easy to assume someone that's doing the entire ruckus is powerful, hence you on the scene—a precious angel who might be mite more powerful enough to smite them."

He looked troubled but didn't argue. "How they're doing this?"

The former demon's lips stretched into an oily smile, "Should I take by your question that you're in?"

Castiel hesitated for a pause, considering the implications of the situation. If Crowley was right, then it needs to be taken care of as soon as possible, but first, he needed evidence before diving down the situation headlong—a proof enough that Crowley is not misleading him, a proof of the existence those earth-born demons and how they're made of.

Deciding there was one way to find out, Castiel said, "It means I'm listening."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"I managed to capture one of them." Crowley began as he led Castiel inside the dimly lit room.

The room looked almost eerily the same from the hideout where Crowley had imprisoned the Alphas and monsters in the cells, even the tiled cracked walls were the same except the colors, gurney lined against the wall and chains littered around the floors.

In the center of the room was a man tied on the chair with chains and heavy ropes. Castiel found the man extremely ordinary in appearance: bald, bearded and plump with his mailman suit, except for the part that his clothes were dirty with blood, bruised and gash lining on his face and its eyes were completely black with pinpricks.

"For some reason, the devil's trap and holy water doesn't work on them." Crowley gestured at the gallon bottled waters, bloodstained blades and surgical instruments on the table near the mailman and then indicated the ceiling above with his finger.

Castiel looked up; the ceiling had the perfect pentagram the devil's trap above the mailman.

"Funny enough, iron, salt and the angel's blade do work. Exorcism has the usual painful effect but it seems they're unable to leave their meatsuit."

"I didn't know you were an angel's bitch." The mailman chimed with a dreamy smile and Castiel received the impression the man was drugged against his will, pumped the drug full beyond the human's limit.

"Trust me, being his bitch is better than anyone, including your dear ol' Luc." Crowley smirked but then he mildly glared at Castiel, "Although, I have been yanked around for that fact."

Crowley was right. It was a demon, indeed. Castiel could see the demon's true face as it grinned at the angel, so mangled, so torn and so deformed but when he searched further, he found it was incomplete.

"It's halfway demon." Castiel stated blandly.

"I know. I still can see humanity on him but it smell rotten to the core." He wrinkled his nose as if it the scent was putrid enough.

"Ironically, that's how I think of you."

"Say whatever you want, but I know you like me better than the other hell spawns." Crowley teased.

The angel wisely ignored the comment, "How did you manage to subdue him?"

"Witches, mostly." Crowley said, "I had few of them in my pockets and they located him easily but bringing him here was bit a pickle, heard it was grisly at the end." He made an empty gesture with his hand, "Ehh, Those hags always complain. _Crowley, he killed my familiar!"_ He mimicked a pitched high voice.

The half-demon twittered at this.

Crowley raised his eyebrow and asked the mailman, "Fond memories there, mate?"

"She tasted delicious." The mailman half-moaned and half-groaned as he licked his lip.

Crowley grimaced, "Not ordinary demon at all." He said to Castiel, "We don't go for Dr. Lecter, no matter how they gently cook the livers in pate-de-foie-grass."

"This is troubling." Castiel said, his eyes sweeping the mailman with a detached calculation. "How they're doing it?"

"That's good question which unfortunately I don't have the answer for." Crowley told him, "The Stagecoach Mary isn't talking except going postal when I come near to him with the angel's blade."

"Shall I assume this is not the first earthbound demons you chained?"

Crowley had almost forgotten this, the businesslike, cold battle-hardened warrior Castiel was. It was almost a figment ghost of an old partnership they both had when they were looking for Purgatory.

"Nor the first I tortured."

"And you found nothing from it?"

"Oh I found something, alright but it doesn't make sense; it was mostly gibberish and jabber between the harmonies of screams." Crowley looked at the mailman whose head lolled backward, its black eyes glazed, "I suspect they don't know they're becoming Bloody Barony. They haven't kidnapped by anyone or had disappearing acts. No demonic signs around them when their souls was in the beginning stage of corruption. The only thing I found out is that they were becoming violent. We also ransacked their house for any sign of witchery or demonic. So far, nada."

"Crudely put, someone is doing this behind the scene, without their knowledge." Castiel summarized for himself.

The former King of Hell shrugged, "It appears that way."

After long moment staring hard at the corrupted soul, Castiel thought of the Winchester brothers who fought so hard to save the earth from demons, angels and monsters to the end of days, stopping Apocalypse, trying to keep Purgatory away from them, taking the Leviathan down and closing the gate of Hell.

He vehemently hated the idea that someone would come here to ruin their hard work.

The angel would have given everything in his power to keep their works unspoiled. For him, he'll never walk away.

Castiel straightened his shoulder and look directly at Crowley, "I'll do it."

Crowley grinned, "Perfect." He clapped his hands together, "So . . . how we do stop it?"

"You don't." He frowned, "I'll take care of this."

The former demon's smile fell. "Hold your blasted halo, _I_ brought you this to your attention and you're taking off _my _hands?"

Castiel looked crossly at Crowley, "You would only be an encumbrance to me. It's as you said, you're not demon anymore and I can take this problem faster without you."

Crowley's lips thinned, "I see you haven't taken my advice for colonblow. You haven't changed, still constipated as ever."

Something hard flitted across on Castiel face, "You should know that by now. I don't change."

A gust of the wind and a rustle of a wing was the cue of Castiel's usual disappearance without a word of parting.

"Bollocks." Crowley muttered and then shifted his gaze to the drooling mailman. "You know, if the Winchester brothers were here, they would've disagreed with him, specially the teen heartthrob."

* * *

After failing gaining result from doing the ritual to find the earthbound demons, Castiel went to the closed library, appearing front a computer and turned it on.

He sat down, waiting for the computer to boost up and he mused to himself that how ironically that he had been forced to resort to this way. Before having his grace taken by Metatron, Castiel had found research confusing and terribly tedious. He had told Dean of his opinion and Dean just grinned at him, saying:

_"That's the reason I leave research to Sammy and Bobby while I do seek and destroy and maybe play around a little."_

Castiel had agreed with him but after his brief stint of human's life had given him a new appreciation and perspective of this particular researching method. Although it was still terribly tedious, it was enough to test his patience that the light overhead flickered and the bulb almost exploded to shards and sparks.

It was until dawn, he found three promising cases but he wished it was bit more concrete than vague statement of the journalist's report. Castiel pinched at the bridge of his nose and consoled himself that way it was preferable than dealing with witches and almost shuddered. He understood the sentiment over Dean's hate for the witches.

Castiel supposed it was enough to start. He spread his wing and flew, starting on the East.

* * *

To his disappointment, the first two cases were fluke, normal murders caused by a spurned lover and other for a financial vendetta.

He flew again, ending a small idyllic town of Idaho, standing at the empty street and across him was a simple house that belonged to a seemingly happy Tanner family which met a gruesome untimely demise that horrified the neighboring communities, according the report.

A husband and children slaughtered in their sleep and a wife disappeared after their death, her location currently unknown. It sounded an ordinary murder except for the fact the report indicated symbols painted on the wall, drawn with their blood.

Castiel had doubted at first that it wouldn't be entirely demonic because it sounded very much like a monster' job but the angel found himself relieved he was on the right track when he smelt a rotten egg, heavy in the air, even across the street but the house was empty with presences, the demonic forces long gone.

The angel glanced around on both sides, finding nobody on sight and then flitted himself inside the house.

The smell of blood was the first thing that pervaded his senses before he saw it. In the living room, he stared at the taped outline of a human's body on a blood smeared armchair and the taped size looked big to fit children's small shape. It seemed the husband sat there, watching TV, maybe.

It was something Jimmy Novak would've done.

Guessing from the spurt of the blood, Castiel deduced the victim had been sliced open by his throat before he was stabbed to his stomach again and again. A means of communication to the other planes with goblet of blood, perhaps?

He looked at the wall and discovered red-stained dozen hieroglyphics symbols that he couldn't decipher. Castiel cocked his head to the side as he frowned; the symbols looked oddly familiar . . . almost like Word of God but it seemed an aberration of it.

Castiel walked to the hallway, glimpsing the entrance yellow-taped as crime scene at the door but his attention intent on the floor by the corner of the door. He kneeled down to touch the yellow dust with his fingers, smearing it with his thumbs.

Sulfur.

There was no doubt anymore, this deed was done by demon.

Castiel turned his head to stare at the stairwell, sensing a trace of pain and confusion of the human's emotion echoing to his grace from the bedroom above, very faint.

Then he rose and flew to the bedroom.

Twin beds were propped against the wall, the bedcovers were torn and bloody with scattered feathers and the angel grimaced in sympathy. The children had suffered far much worse than the husband. He pushed that thought away and centering his attention to the walls. The symbols looked almost the same as downstairs with few modifications.

The grace inside him sensed something. The angel let his eyes drift shut and opened from within, extending the sight beyond his body. His grace caught the spoor traces of energy easily: a faint magic wrapping around someone's soul but it was older than murder itself, months older.

He searched further, his grace reaching to a vestige of a slow descent of insanity, the dark corruption, the flash of rage and the evil act followed by a pain, then nothing . . . not until a crowd of investigators wandering around the room, sensing their aghast horror from them, not truly understanding.

He almost withdrew his grace when the faint presence of policemen was fading away but there was something that caught his attention, something that puzzled him.

Someone had been here.

A hunter, to be specific.

* * *

Crowley plunged the angel's blade to the demon's right upper thigh, piercing through his bone and muscles to the surface of the chair with a flicker of energy coming out from the wound. A loud scream escaped from the mailman.

"Could you say again?" Crowley inquired patiently, "This time slower."

The mailman was sweating profusely, his face pale and wan and he tried to spit at Crowley's face "Screw you!"

"Tsk, tsk. That's not very nice." Crowley said, "Here I am, asking politely from you and you spew insults." He grabbed another set of an angel blade from the table, taking a perverse pleasure to see the mailman's eyes flinch at the sight of the weapon, "Now, I'll ask you again and this time I'll better hear lovely sonnets from your lips just the way I like. Preferably _La Traviata_ but you know, it can be anything. I'm not picky."

"Screw. You." The demon dragged the words.

Crowley sighed, "Wrong answer," and proceeded to stab the angel's blade through the left thigh with more force than before.

The mailman wailed loudly for a long moment then slumped forward and heaved in pain.

"Feeling like chatty Cathy now?"

A heavy gravel of a voice spoke from behind him, "Crowley."

Crowley raised his eyebrow in surprise and spun the chair around to find Castiel standing few feet from him. "My, this certainly is a surprise. I didn't think you would come back."

"Did you send a hunter?"

"Why hello, Crowley, you look lovely with this outfit." He mocked the angel, gesturing the butcher gear over his suit. "A greeting like that would be nice."

Castiel gave him the look that told him he didn't appreciate the mocking tone.

"Fine." Crowley sighed after long silence, "Care to repeat that question?"

"Did you send a hunter?" Castiel repeated flatly.

"If you'll be little more helpful with few more details, then maybe I might know what you're talking about because that was obtuse."

"While I was investigating, I discovered that I wasn't alone in that search." Castiel said impatiently, "Someone is also looking those earthbound demons."

"And that got your panties in a bunch?" Crowley asked, raising a single eyebrow. "Because I don't see the problem—you know the saying, 'the more the merrier.'"

Castiel looked at him, expressionless, "I like working alone."

"I know for a fact that your history suggest otherwise."

That statement pained him more than he thought it would and his lips thinned, "Did you send the hunter or not?"

"I don't deal with hunters anymore except Samantha and Jody." He told him, "The rest of them would've my pretty head on pike after that debacle with Campbell. So no, I haven't sent any of them."

The angel didn't seem happy of that revelation.

Crowley pushed the caster wheels of the chair with his leg to the edge of the table, "Assuming that you're asking, I reckon you found one of the demons?" Crowley grabbed scalpel with his gloved hand as he turned his head to face the angel. "Because if so, that's rather quick—"

He stopped when he saw an empty space where the angel was supposed to be.

"Peachy." He said, shrugging. To the mailman, he grinned as he raised the scalpel, "Are you up for round three?"

The mailman whimpered.

Castiel appeared to the last spoor of demonic trace, arriving at the center of a crossroad in the middle of wheat-field. Beneath him, the dirt had been dug and buried once again.

He dug with single hand, shifting the disturbed dirt aside easily until he found a box. Inside revealed the usual ritual for summoning a crossroad demon: the black cat bone, a bag of graveyard dirt and wilted yarrow flowers but it was the driving license that he found helpful. The picture on it portrayed a mid-thirties woman with the name, address on the plastic. It was the same address of the house whose family was murdered and the woman was Tanner, the very same person that had disappeared after murder of her husband and children.

It was very clear the woman was possessed—no, that didn't sound right to Castiel's mind. There was no possessions, corrupted would be more correct. But it told Castiel one thing—the earthbound demon was trying to summon a crossroad demon. However, this was not enough to bring him understanding. Why an earthbound demon would summon a crossroad demon when its soul was useless for a deal? Or it had its uses?

There was still humanity in one of them, Castiel saw himself, so it had soul or a ghost of their former self, like a brand on a soul and perhaps it was worthy enough for a crossroad demon. It would safe to assume the woman's corrupted soul was the same as the mailman, still available for sale but therein lies the problem. When they had had shut the door of hell completely, it included the crossroad demons.

Nobody had seen them for seven years and it remained true when Castiel's grace searched for any other imprint of a demonic presences and he found only one and another human's soul—a very dead one—but no crossroad demon.

Miles of tall stalks of wheat met the sky when Castiel stood up; searching for the dead human and he saw a thatched brown roof of a farmhouse rose above the stalks.

His wing stretched open and snapped inside the farmhouse quickly, rustling the papers to the air with a burst of wind preceding his existence. Castiel almost missed the old man, dead and lying on the kitchen's floor. He had died recently, for few hours, perhaps, Castiel wasn't entirely certain. With a quick survey, Castiel surmised the old man had died the same way the husband had died, its throat slit open and blood was sprayed on the yellow cabinets and the surface of the table but no blood drawn symbols anywhere.

This was done in hurry in sort detached fashion and he was not sure what to think about that. The demon's intention was a mystery at this point.

Castiel saw through the window and realized it begun to get dark, the sky shifting in lavender with orange hues, painting the clouds with golden brushes. To a human, it might have looked wonderful to witness the shifting colors but Castiel felt nothing at the beauty of sunset.

He gave one last glance at the kitchen and vanished.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

A loud whir of a machine hummed in the air and the light bulbs overhead flickered on to illuminate the circular room of the Men of Letters bunker with stark, bright white light.

The ham radio, telegraph, switchboard and the tables were overlaid with thin layer of dust that had accumulated in place over time, the spider webs had infiltrated the rails of the staircase, the balcony and the shelves of the library.

Castiel could almost see a ghostly image of Dean sitting on the chair, his booted feet propped up lazily on the table, reading his favorite Vogennut in his mind' eye.

The bunker was a constant reminder to Castiel. The sense of Dean's presence in the bunker hasn't dulled over time and it hurt. It was raw to the core, aching and comforting at once, a feeling only a man like him could bring forth in him.

He closed his eyes and focused to push all the emotions away with his grace and found the process difficult. It had been getting harder and harder to stamp the despondency, the grace barely dulling the pain.

With a shaky breath, he moved toward the ham radio, gently brushing the spider webs off the antiquated equipment with his fingers and turned to the desired police frequency to one of the counties of Idaho.

_"Control to Car 1, 17-6-0. A possible B-D in progress. 10-6 for further information."_

Castiel dragged the chair and set it near to the radio.

_"We have 10-59 on the Southeast 13__th__ street and fourth, trauma team and fire control team are en route."_

He sat down and propped his elbows on his knees. Slowly, he opened his grace to the Host and listened to the humans' prayers. He could feel millions over millions hitting his ears, fragmented voices, wails, whispers and sounds sinking on his grace. Castiel could hear a woman's weeping in Saudi Arabia. A chorus of singers in a church, a child's whispered prayer for a guardian before bedtime, a man begging in the hospital.

_"Por favor, Dios. No deje que mi hija muera. Te lo ruego."_

A broken-hearted woman in France, sobbing.

_"Ca fait mal. S'il vous plait, prenez-le."_

The prayers overlapped with the voices of the radio, all tense, commanding, laughing, crying and whispering.

_"All unit to the Mall of Americas, a possible 10-30—"_

_"Voglio vincere, fammi vincere. . ."_

_"Victim is hurt, unconscious. Request a 10-56 . . ."_

_". . . and wake me gently with God's. . ."_

Castiel listened them all.

* * *

It was four days after when a homicide detective's whispered prayer had caught Castiel's attention through the million voices filtering within the grace and from the radio.

_"Oh, god. Oh, god, who would do this? So many bloods, I don't understand—why she would kill them? Please, god, make me understand."_

Castiel honed on it, shutting off the rest of the prayers and listened attentively on the detective's harsh breathing.

_"… hey, are you okay?" _It wasn't the detective's voice, someone different altogether and almost familiar, "_You're new, aren't you? Here, this will help."_

The man was speaking to the detective but Castiel ignored his voice, focusing more on important matters. He felt himself tense when he glimpsed the detective's thoughts of images trailed entrails of a victim and painted walls with strange symbol like a snippet from flipped pages.

His wing unfurled and he willed himself to the source of the prayer.

The angel found himself standing on the middle of the curious crowd, looking across the apartment building. The police cars' blocked the street as their sirens blared loudly, flashing with its red and blue light.

He sensed the half-demonic aura, near. But to his disappointment, it was no longer there. The woman had already fled.

Castiel frowned at the police officers who guarded entrance of the lobby, allowing only paramedics and few uniforms to enter. The angel hesitated, debating himself for a moment whether if he could pass as FBI to garner entrance of the building to the crime scene. The fake Id was still in his pocket but his people skills with humans were never one of his strengths, even when he was human.

His thoughts halted into a crash to a loud thudding heartbeat against his chest when he saw someone he recognized—someone that he would know that face anywhere, down to the last detail—and he felt his mouth go completely dry.

For a second, Castiel thought he had seen a man in FBI suit that looked very much like Dean but when he blinked, the man was gone.

He fisted his hand so tightly, his knuckles turning white, growing angry with himself. It wasn't the first time he had thought he saw Dean and he doubted this time would be the last.

_Dean is dead,_ he told himself. _Dean is dead._

He felt a part of him hardened something solid, stronger than metal and rock and something in his beating heart-felt cold and empty until there was weariness and numbness. He scorched his grief and loss with his grace, leaving him nothing except a soldier.

And he waited.

* * *

The lone police officer who stayed behind to guard the doorway of the crime scene suddenly collapsed with a soft thump when Castiel pressed his two fingers on his forehead. Satisfied with his work, the angel whirled around to study the spacious apartment.

Castiel blinked at the sheer redness and realized the demon overdid herself.

Almost the entire living room was painted with blood—gallons of dried blood splashed on the furniture, walls, floor in thickening trails but there were no bodies. The police had taken them away hours ago.

Castiel dropped his eyes at the cocktail glasses, champagne flutes, opened beer bottles and crumpled napkins scattered on the tables and counter of the kitchen, and there were snacks and appetizers on a bowl of plates around the living room.

A small gathering, it seemed. That explained the dozen crackling energies of souls as he tried to gain sense of those who had been here. There had been small crowd of people and it appeared she had killed few of them. The warrior in him was almost impressed she managed to overpower many of them at the same time, but then the demons always had been stronger than humans.

Castiel followed the smear of footprints to the hallway and down the bedroom where the bloody hieroglyphics symbols awaited him. It was similar to the symbol from the Tanner's house but the red lines were drawn in shaky shapes. It almost looked frantic, hurried.

The angel was jarred from his thoughts when a shrill sound pierced the air. Castiel jerked his head at the phone sitting on the night table; it went silent once again then resumed ringing and ringing. He hesitantly picked up to peer at the three bold numbers on the caller ID: _666._

The angel glowered at the number and answered the call, "Crowley."

"How is the Nancy Drew sleuthing business working out for you?" Crowley's voice drawled and Castiel could almost feel the former demon smile.

"How you did get this number?" He demanded, "How did know where I was?"

"You don't expect me to spill all my magician tricks, do you, Chuckles? Otherwise nobody will find how sexy I am for being such clever, clever, clever demon."

"You _were_ demon." The angel threw Crowley's word back to him.

"Pish-posh, semantics."

Exasperated, he asked, "Is there a purpose for this call?"

"But of course," There was a sound of a wheels scrapping on the floor through the receiver, "The fat postman sang. It was no _La Traviata_ but it was something."

There was a sound of slapping and a moan.

"Wakey, wakey, your eight o'clock phone call is here." A brief pause followed with a rustle of clothes and a clatter of metal touching metal, "Good. Now, tell him what you said to me."

The mailman's voice came, weak, "I don't want to—"

Words were cut off by a grunt of pain and from the way the mailman was breathing, Castiel guessed Crowley had hit him with a blunt object.

"Try again or this little sledgehammer is going to your kneecaps." Crowley's voice threatened.

There was a sound of whimper and a loud gulp as if trying to catch the breath, "There are others like me." The mailmen groaned, "They found me. I don't know h-how but they did."

"What else?" The former king of hell coaxed.

"T-they told me to look for others but I don't have clue where to look them—they told me to bring them."

Castiel felt himself tense at this information.

"Where?" Crowley asked.

"Abandoned warehouse . . . on . . . on Mountain Home, building 8."

That was surprising. It wasn't far from this apartment, about twenty miles from here.

There was a patting noise, "Good boy, I'll give you a treat later." Crowley said, "You got this, angel?"

"Yes." Castiel said slowly, frowning, "But I don't understand. Why are you helping me?"

"You mean after you snubbed me?" Crowley retorted snidely. A thin noise wheels came again and Crowley's voice was closer this time, dropping into a growl, "It's my bloody case and you're not going to take it from me. As much it pains me, I need all the help and that includes you, Mr. I-like-working-alone."

He knew there was a catch, "In exchange for?"

"To keep me appraised." Crowley paused for a moment then confessed as if it was a poison for him, "I like to hear for once that it's over."

Castiel's eyes widened. At that at least Castiel understood and did not blame him.

"Very well. I'll keep you informed."

He hung up, opening his wings wide open but hesitated in time when he felt a familiar spoor of human's soul, the one he felt at Tanner's house.

It was the same hunter.

Castiel shook his head and flew to the warehouse.

* * *

All around him was chaos in the warehouse and it took a moment for Castiel to get his bearing. He was surprised to find so much smoke billowing inside the warehouse that he couldn't even see his surroundings clearly. His lips thinning, he almost regretted his decision to fly headlong without checking the place first.

He saw angry glows within the smoke, the roar of a sound sucking up the air, creating a blistering heat.

_Fire._

Instinct kicked in and Castiel moved with purpose, moving through the smoky hallway that was mix of flickering light and floating gust of ash that blew in the swirling wave of scorching heat. He paused on the stairwell, hearing the moan and rumble of the fire coming to its full strength.

There was a scream from somewhere in his left and emerging through the wall of fire, a man appeared like Kali, the goddess of destruction, wreathed in flames. The man looked at the angel and through the burning flesh, his eyes went completely black.

Demon.

The man went for him, screaming hideously, perhaps for help but Castiel easily sidestepped him, not wanting to touch him. Suddenly, the demon exploded few feet from him, sending a gust of heat on Castiel's skin and it left scorch mark on the floor.

The angel frowned at the strange explosion.

"Help! Help!" Someone cried.

He looked at the ceiling where the source of cry had come from.

The angel appeared to the second floor of the storeroom, pausing for a moment. There was a vague sense of pain, and the angel glanced down to see the flames licking up around his shoes. He scowled at the unbearable heat at it and proceeded to ignore it.

"Help!" A woman's voice screamed from somewhere, "_Someone!"_

Above Castiel, a glass shattered from the upper third floor. He lifted his eyes to see just in time to catch a demon soaring through the stairwell window's office and to the air like a ball of fire before it crashed on the floor with a splash of ashes, leaving another blackened scorch mark on the floor.

This was getting puzzling.

"Somebody!"

Snapping his attention to the left and followed the sound through the smoke, noting distantly that the flames had begun to lick down the walls, slithering against it.

He searched around the crates, sidestepping the debris and the flames as best he could. His feet bumped something solid and found a dead man with a stab wound in the middle of the chest. He smelt sulfur on him, heavy and pressing. A dead demon.

Castiel blinked, worrying for a second because the woman had stopped screaming through the roar of fire.

Towering flames had slithered up to the ceiling, siphoning ever last bit of oxygen within the caged inferno and beneath him, he could feel the ground rumble and shake, causing by the multiplying numbers of fire and heat.

It didn't take him long to realize the room was about to explode. He knew he had minute or two.

He hurried forward, glancing around the corner of the crates and found something, or someone.

A hand poked out the edge of the crate and Castiel kneeled to grab it. His hand clasped on the girl's hand firmly, he chanced to glance over his shoulder to glimpse an inferno surging forth, rumbling as if the freight train were in tow, wrenching the walls and the floor as the crates disappeared into the blaze.

Castiel could hear nothing above the roar of fire and the screech of metal being pulled apart—

— and there was no time to do anything after that except to fly.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"Bloody hell!" Crowley shouted, almost splashing the bourbon to the desk when the angel appeared in a flurry of smoke and fire in the solarium.

Then all it was quiet.

Castiel slowly stood up, his trench coat curling with wisp of smoke, the edges burnt beyond recognition to a shade of grayish beige. At the angel's feet Crowley saw an unconscious girl.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, "What the hell happened to you?"

"Fire." It was all he said.

"I can see that," He began sarcastically, sipping down the whiskey, "but could you clarify for me?"

The angel half-patted and half-wiped his dirty hands on his trench coat, trying to clean away from the soot in sort distracted way, "I went to the warehouse and I found a lot demons but . . ." He frowned, tilting his head, "They were dead."

Crowley looked taken aback, "Say again?"

"Dead." He repeated flatly and hoped that it conveyed the point through because Castiel didn't think could explain it, not when he was trying to determine what happened to the warehouse.

"Huh," Crowley said, standing up from his chair and taking the glass with him, "Who went Buffy on them, assuming there just one or two who killed them?"

Castiel looked perplexed at Crowley's words but he took a tentative guess, "A hunter, I suspect."

"The same hunter you came to interrogate me?" The former king of demon stepped forward, peering down curiously at the woman.

"Perhaps."

His eyes flicked up, "Do you know or you don't? Either way you're not the sharpest guy on the block."

Castiel bristled, "Forgive me." He said sarcastically, "Next time I'll check around while the warehouse explodes. Will that suffice?"

Crowley took another sip, "I like you better now that you're pissed off," He pointed down, "And who's the sleeping beauty?"

The angel moved around to look down at her, "I found her in the warehouse."

"She's hardly demon." He sniffed the air, "Tsk, more like baby demon."

Castiel found the girl very young, barely grasping to adulthood, "Can she be saved?"

"Sorry, once you're pegged, there's no turning back."

"You turned back."

"Different set of circumstance and I didn't have much choice in the matter," His voice was flat, "But if you want cure her, be my guest. I got Father Landay on speed dial."

Castiel nodded.

Crowley regarded the angel slowly. "She won't go back the way she was. You and I both know that kind of guilt won't go away."

There was silence from Castiel as he considered this but then he shook his head, "It's not for us to decide her fate. Nor free her burdens from the acts she committed as demon. It rest on her whether she can live with it or not."

"What if she doesn't want to choose humanity?"

Castiel's blue eyes darkened, "Then we will make this clear to her: to live as human or die as demon."

Crowley hummed, raising his bourbon glass in salute, "Bravo."

* * *

His thumb pressed against the point of the knife, testing the sharpness while looking between the blade and Castiel.

"So, loverboy, care to tell me what you been up in those seven years?"

Castiel flipped the book titled: _Laienspegiel,_ glancing at the gruesome images depicting torture, "Nothing."

Crowley was surprised, "At all?"

"I watched Sam." He intoned calmly, reading the caption beneath the image with detached curiosity, "Killed the monsters locally."

"So the giraffe wouldn't go hunting?"

He flipped to the other page, "Yes."

Crowley put the knife down to look curiously at Castiel, "You haven't gone all out? Experiencing the decadence and the sin of the flesh to the fullest? Doing the dirty deeds with women—or men if you swing that way—in ways even the most nuns would weep, angels cry and make Casanova proud?"

Another page was turned, "No."

"That's sound . . ." He trailed off for anticipation effect, ". . . _dull_."

"If you say so."

Crowley stared at him closely, watching the curved bent of the angel's shoulder, the hard mask on his face and the harsh light of the room wasn't doing Castiel's complexion any favor. For an angel who wasn't supposedly to age, he suddenly looked older— or weary would be more accurate.

"What happened to you?" Crowley asked, "I haven't forgotten when you'd fallen from the lofty height, literally and figuratively speaking. You were all Edward Scissorhand and you didn't fall to despair. From what I heard from Winchesters, you tried everything: working, dating, hunting, surviving—the usual human stuff but now you're not even doing that."

The sound of page flipping stopped.

"I'm not human anymore."

"You're missing the point, Mr. Roboto."

"Then get to it."

Crowley almost hesitated but he wasn't about to drop the conversation without hammering his point to the oblivious angel's head, "Let me dumb down in five-year old boy language in a way you can understand: you're here . . . but not there."

Something stony and cold filled in the angel's eyes when he lifted his head to stare at Crowley and if Crowley were a lesser man, he would've shaken to his Louis Vutton's leather shoes from that _look_.

A moan stopped the conversation in a screeching halt, both turning to stare at the girl tied to the chair as she blinked her eyes open.

"The sleeping beauty awakens. Too bad, I was hoping for a true love's kiss."

Castiel gave him a cold stare while the girl looked confused with her brows knitted together.

"Harsh audience." Crowley muttered under his breath before grabbing the knife and approached to the woman, "Down to the business, then."

The girl's eyes flicked back and forth to Crowley and the knife nervously as she squirmed in the chair.

"I had long, _long_ week with a nary rest and my patience is nonexistent than it needed by the other guy whom you might know him. Fat mailman who go by Joe—does it ring bells?" The woman snapped her eyes to Crowley from the knife. "Ah, it does. But I digress, you don't want test my patience so I won't go gently into that goodnight as I did with the rest of them."

The woman started to breathe heavily, tugging the ropes that wrapped around her wrists desperately.

"Now, for your sake, you better tell me what _I_ need to hear."

There was a long pause as she looked frantically at her surroundings, her eyes zooming on the different set of deadly instruments lying on the tray, all sharp and gleaming dangerously. Her face fell as she realized her situation.

"Ask your questions because I don't know where to start." She said weakly.

Crowley smiled, "You, dearie, I like you."

She smiled tremulous, her eyes flicking nervously at the instruments.

"Do you know what is happening to you?" Castiel asked behind Crowley.

"You mean this?" She asked, lifting her chin as her eyes turned jet black, "If that what you meant, then yes, I knew." One blink, the demonic blackness in her eyes was gone, returning to the normal silver irises, "But at first I didn't understand what was happening to me."

A storm cloud settled on her features and she looked down to her bound hands, half curled on the armrest. "I was normal college girl, studying Torts and worrying about midterms. Then the nightmares started—horrible, confusing dreams where we killed people. I think some of them were featuring hell but I don't know for sure."

"How Hell did look?"

"Hard to explain . . ." She trailed off, her eyes going distant, "It was more sensations than sight. There were blood, chains and people on racks—flayed people, torn apart but not in usual way. They would get so broken down to molecules but they didn't die. Nobody died and they would always come back, intact only to repeat the process."

Crowley and Castiel exchanged looks.

"And then what?" Crowley returned his gaze to the girl.

"Feelings." Her voice dropped low, "A whole heaps of bad feelings. I wanted hurt people, manipulate them, and destroy what they had in their pathetic _lives_."

"And did you?" Castiel demanded.

The girl grinned, curling her head to her shoulder, like a cat stretching. "Just teeny bit."

Castiel slid a gleaming silver sword from his shelves and to his hand with a hard expression etched on his face. The girl blanched and didn't look nearly sure of herself.

"Easy there, tiger." Crowley murmured, "Let the girl speak before you slice her to pieces."

"I'm not speaking if you're going to let your friend hurt me afterward." The girl protested loudly, glancing nervously at the angel.

"Oh, he won't." The former demon assured with easy confidence, "You see, the angel here believes in giving choices to people—that includes you—and none of them involve pain. So pay no attention to him, he's just being bitch."

She looked at Crowley skeptically.

"Now, go on. Regale your story down to the rabbit hole. I'm riveted." He empathized the 'r' easily and grinned broadly.

The girl hesitated for a few seconds, "After the violence tendencies, there were urges but it was . . . strange." She frowned, "There were thing I just knew, like painting weird symbols on the walls. I was sort driven to draw them, I _had_ to or I'll have a bad case of migraines for _hours_." The lines of her brow deepened, perplexed, "Then using of blood as mean of communication. . ."

Castiel tensed.

". . . I never had done that before but I _knew_, like sort of deep-seated instinct buried deep within. Cutting someone's throat and speak a spell to the bowl of blood but nobody spoke, not for a while. It was months later I finally heard someone speak from the other side."

"Other demons?" Crowley guessed.

She smiled again, "Yes, they were looking for others too. We began to meet and when our numbers grew, from there we decided to spread around to gather the rest of us."

The girl fell silent.

"Well?" Crowley prodded, waiting.

The girl blinked, realizing, "Oh." She said, "That's it."

"That's it?" Crowley asked, disappointed, "You don't have any reason or any theory why you became this? Witchery? Demi-gods? Torture?"

The girl's shoulder shrugged, "It's as I told you, I was normal. I was busy trying to survive for another quarter and I didn't have time for boyfriend or any kind of stuff you mentioned."

Crowley studied at the girl for a long moment, like she might be lying but decided that she wasn't. He turned to Castiel.

"Well? What do you think?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I don't like it."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "New flash: nobody here does, except for her." He thumbed the girl, "Do you need to question her before the cleansing begins?"

"Cleansing?" The girl asked with start, "What cleansing?"

"Shhh, mom and dad are speaking."

"As matter of fact, I do have few questions." Castiel shifted his eyes to her.

Crowley stepped aside, "Well, have at it."

The girl squirmed uncomfortably at the angel's strange intense focus, as if he was looking beyond flesh and saw her demonic soul.

"What happened in the warehouse?"

Her eyes widened open in bewilderment, "Wait a minute, I didn't you come with the guy?"

Between his eyebrows creased into frown, "I didn't come with anyone." Castiel spared a glance over Crowley who looked mildly interested at the conversation. "I arrived precisely at the moment when the warehouse was burning."

She looked confused, "Um . . . okay." The girl said hesitantly, "A hot guy came out from nowhere, hotter than I ever seen in my entire life and he just started shooting his shotgun at us." She looked down at the few holes in her sooty shirt around the chest. "Salt, I reckon because it did hurt like hell. Ian and Bubba went to lunge at him but the guy was faster, he threw something that looked like a bottle at them and they both exploded but . . . " The girl trailed off, unsure, "It wasn't a normal explosion."

Castiel's frown deepened, "What do you mean?"

"I mean there was no blood, no gut and gore like you see one of those movie. It was . . ." She frowned as she searched a way to describe, "Ash. Lot of crackling ashes then burst of fire."

The angel's eyes widened in slow astonishment and he didn't have to look at Crowley to know he felt the same.

"Next thing I know, everything caught fire and I was running for my life."

"Did you see what happened to the guy or at least saw where he did go?" Crowley asked.

The girl shook her head, "Not really. I was trying not to die."

"Well, you succeeded admirably." Crowley complimented with hint of derision.

"The man, what he did look like?"

"Hot." She said again, without hesitation.

Crowley chuckled, "Yes, darling, but he meant is he black? White? Green? Tall? Short? Sparkling?"

She let out a very small, faint, "Oh."

If demons blushed, her face would be tomato by now due embarrassment.

"Er, he was white, brown hair, about bit taller like your angel friend over there." She jerked her head at Castiel's direction, "I think his eyes were pale color, blue or hazel but I might be mistaken. It was dark when I saw him." She brightened, as if she remembered something, "Oh yeah, his lip—plushest lips I ever seen—for a guy. Built for kissing and wow . . . what a _smile_."

For a girl who watched her friends die at the hands of the hunter, she had no qualm raving his appearance and Castiel found this little disturbing.

After moment of silence, Crowley spoke to Castiel, "You done?"

Though Castiel looked troubled, he nodded.

Crowley clapped his hands together at once. "Goodie." The former demon stepped behind her, "You and I—we're going for a ride."

Startled, she craned her head to look up at him, "What? Where?"

"To the last place you'll expect." He said, "Best to hold on, darling, it's going be a bumpy."

* * *

Castiel was scribbling something on paper with his perpetual frown on his face when Crowley entered his private office, looking bit worse for wear.

"How is she?" He said for the sake to fill the silence.

The former demon went for the bar cabinet as he grabbed the bottle scotch and shot of glass. "Spike's halfway there to become a real girl."

"I see." Castiel stated as kept scrawling on the pages with a hurried movement.

Crowley glanced at the angel at the desk curiously, busying himself taking the glass stopper off, "What you're up to?"

"I'm drawing the symbols from the wall from Tanner's house and the apartment."

"From memory?"

"Yes."

Crowley would never admit to the angel, but he was impressed, "Interesting." He commented, pouring until the amber liquid was half full and took a sip, "Why?"

"I think I recognize the symbols from somewhere and I need help deciphering them."

"And who's the unlucky Samaritan?"

"Kevin."

Crowley almost choked on the whiskey, "The little banana prophet? The one who went Guantanamo Bay and then proceeded to laugh after setting my ass on fire with holy oil, _literally_?"

"You deserved it." Castiel told him tonelessly, "You let him believe you killed or tortured his mother."

The demon conceded with a shrug, "Details." Taking one large gulp, he exhaled before saying, "I thought he only translated the Word of God."

"Then what this does look like?" Castiel pushed dozen papers to the edge of the desk.

Crowley moved closer to scan the familiar symbols, his eyes widening slightly, "Is that what I think it is?"

"It might. I can't be certain until I'll show to Kevin."

He spread the pages on the desk to study them closely, "Correct me if I'm wrong but I thought the Word of God came as tablets?"

"Correct."

"And now this chicken crawl is appearing on someone's wall, made by a demon? One—I might add—who isn't even a real demon?"

"Correct."

"I'm not sure what to take on this but this is . . ." He trailed off, failing to search a word.

"Worrying." Castiel added for him.

Crowley's lips curled upward, "Not the word I'll use but let go for it." He sat down on the chair of the opposite side of the desk. "So," He said slowly, "About the hunter."

"You mean the demon's bomb." Castiel went straightforward to the point.

That stopped Crowley for a moment then he glowered at the angel. Sometimes he wished Castiel had the decency to pussyfoot rather using his usual bluntness. It took the fun out the conversation.

"Yes, the demon bomb." He muttered, "Apart from us, I know there are only three people alive who know how to work a demon bomb." He smirked, "Sure, Kevin is pretty but I'm having the difficulty to refer him as 'hot guy' and from what I last looked, Linda doesn't have manly equipment to her delightful female parts."

Castiel quickly realized where the conversation is heading. Irritated, He narrowed his eyes, "Sam isn't hunting."

He raised a single eyebrow, "He might have slipped under your nose."

"He hasn't."

"He's bloody Winchester." Crowley said impatiently, "He came back from dead that even Death himself lost count. He went to places that nobody came back alive: hell, purgatory and heaven. Lest we forget, he stopped the goddamned apocalypse and compared to that, sneaking around you would be a piece of cake."

Castiel still remained unflappable as ever, his face blank, "That may be but your theory does not stand."

"How so?"

"Sam doesn't have plump lips."

Crowley stared at the angel for a beat before grinning, shaking his head at the lost cause.

* * *

It was early evening by the time Castiel flew to Chicago, appearing in one of the Emergency Room of the Northwestern Memorial Hospital.

It was almost chaotic, disorienting and startling when stretchers wheeled inside, paramedic and nurses ambling in hurried pace and doctors yelling with authoritarian voices before the medical crowd swept inside OR.

"Can I help you?"

He jerked his head to discover a female nurse standing next to him with wary expression.

"Yes. I'm looking for Kevin Tran."

"Tran?" She parroted blankly, spoken so loud that it garnered attention from the nearby passerby in the Emergency Room.

"Cas?" There was incredulity when someone spoke his nickname behind him.

Castiel turned to look at very familiar face but he was taken aback because while Kevin may have looked the same, he was also different. His face was sharper, molded into adulthood with a five o'clock shadow on his jaw and his hair combed to his side neatly. His dark eyes were open and alert, almost like a warrior gaze. There was no wrathful rage in them or the hidden sadness.

Despite his appearance, it was Kevin's soul that caught Castiel off guard. It had grown in0to something stronger with layers that he didn't even know Kevin had and it shone brightly, even brighter when he was just an adolescent kid, when he found him sitting on the backseat of Impala, clutching the tablet.

"Kevin."

"Castiel." His voice was breathy and he laughed, stepping closer to the angel, "It's really you!"

The angel was startled when Kevin's arms shot forward to wrap around Castiel's shoulder and grunted at the rough strength of the man's sudden embrace. Castiel's arms hung limply at his sides and then he reached up with one hesitant hand to pat at Kevin's back awkwardly.

Kevin quickly drew back to look at him, his hands on Castiel's shoulder, "God, I haven't seen you for years! How you doing? Where did you go? I can't believe—" He cut himself abruptly, his eyes growing wide in panic, his shoulder tensing, "Wait a minute, did something happen? You're not in trouble, are you?" Then horrified, he asked, "Is Sam alright?"

"Everything is alright." He hastened to assure him, "Sam is well, as I am."

Kevin breathed a sigh, relaxing, letting his hands fall from Castiel's shoulder. "Oh, thank god. For a moment there I thought. . ." He trailed off weakly.

Castiel's face softened, "There is no need to explain. I understand."

The prophet slowly smiled at him, "I can't believe you're here." A breathy laugher, "Nice surprise."

Castiel looked around, "Yes. I can hardly believe myself." He moved aside to let the woman in wheelchair pass and returned his gaze back at Kevin, this time noting his clothes, "You're doctor."

Kevin looked down at his pale blue scrub and the white tennis shoes. "Not yet. I'm in residency." He explained, "My training is almost done for next year, then it'll be official." He grinned, moving his hand to the imaginary words in the air, "Dr. Tran."

Castiel gave him a smile that wasn't exactly a smile but close to one.

Kevin lowered his hand to his side, his face growing serious, "Not that I'm complaining, Cas, but you're not the visiting kind."

Castiel looked at Kevin searchingly and then frowned, "You're right. There are thing I need to show you."

The prophet glanced down at his wristwatch, "Okay. I got twenty minutes for break. Go up the park to the right side of the E.R. I'll meet you there—" He abruptly cut himself, realizing quickly what Castiel was about to do, "Wait! No disappearing act!"

Castiel stopped himself just in time, confused. "Why not?"

Kevin couldn't help to exclaim, "Dude, you'll scare people! You just can't fly away just because you want to." He pointed at the sliding doors, "Walk over there like a _normal_ person."

The angel looked at him, irritated, before he walked outside.

* * *

"You know, Sam's worried about you." Kevin said as he took a huge bite of his sandwich while he sneaked glance at Castiel next to him. He still could hardly believe that the angel was still here.

"You're keeping in touch with Sam." He realized slowly.

"Yeah," He mumbled around the sandwich, "He calls me every Fridays to ask me how I'm doing. He comes to visit me when he takes off work."

"I know."

Kevin blinked at this, "Whoa. I'm not going even ask how because thinking about it is weird enough. Anyway, if you're keeping tabs on Sam then why you haven't popped in just to say hello?"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on the bench, "I didn't think he wanted a reminder."

The prophet's open mouth froze just near the sandwich, lifting his gaze slowly, watching more closely now and then he said something Castiel never wanted to hear. "But Cas, you're family."

"_Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you." _Dean broken and bloody, his eyes—one bruised and purplish—looking up, pleading, "_I need you." _

Castiel shuddered at the memory, digging his fingers on his knees for something to hold on, guilt and something heavier and immense clawing his throat.

"Please, don't." He took a shaky breath, "Just don't."

Kevin's face didn't give anything away and Castiel was almost glad. "Okay." He said quietly, putting his sandwich on his lap. "It just . . . we're worried. We haven't seen you for seven years. You just disappeared and . . . I thought you went upstairs."

Castiel jolted, "No." He gritted out firmly. "Never, I'll never go back. Not _there_."

Kevin's eyes widened in realization, "Oh, I forgot." He winced at his words, "Sorry." Then winced again, this time for the lame apology.

The prophet swallowed and noticed Castiel's shoulder was rigid, almost defensive, his posture strung tight, like a wire ready to snap. The angel wasn't looking at him, his gaze turned to the left, staring at nothing. With that tension, Kevin didn't think Castiel was in talkative mood but the angel surprised him. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or worry about me." The angel began awkwardly. "I only wanted . . ." He abruptly cut himself off.

"Wanted what?"

There was a moment when Kevin thought Castiel wasn't going to answer but he surprised him again.

"I wanted to forget."

Kevin was looking at him, pain and something that's far too close to pity. Castiel had to look away, wanting nothing more to drop this conversation, move on to another subject because he found the weight in his chest pressing in painfully until he couldn't breathe.

"How is your mother?"

Kevin gave him a look, one that told him _I know what you're trying to do_ and _small talk is not your thing_, "Mom's fine. She called me the other day to tell me she'd finished taking classes of sharpshooting training program. I'm little perturbed how good she is with it."

There was a flicker of smile, "And her leg?"

"You fixed it pretty great." He paused, "Maybe _too_ great because sometimes I wish she had a limp so she would stop taking classes of rock climbing or horse-riding. It's just _not_ natural to worry about my mom when it's supposed go to the other way."

Castiel found himself amused at the woes of Kevin, the simply normalcy of it.

"Cas?"

From that word alone, Castiel was almost dreading what Kevin has to say, "Yes?"

"I never said thank you for helping me." He took a deep breath, "So, thank you."

The angel's took an intake of surprised breath. If he expected anything, it wasn't this. He opened his mouth to say something but something beeped.

"Oh, it's my watch." Kevin said, clasping on the edges of the watch with his fingers, "Damn, I got ten minutes left before my shift."

The angel looked at the sandwich on the prophet's lap, "Then you should eat before you go inside."

"Nah, I'm not hungry anymore," Kevin picked the sandwich and wrapped the aluminum paper around the food and threw to the trash. "Three point!" He cried loudly, imitating a cheering crowd.

"Three point?"

"Basketball reference." He explained but Castiel still didn't understand, "So, you said you were going to show me something."

Kevin didn't like the way angel's face took turn something stony, his mouth thinning fractionally as he frowned. Castiel opened the lapel of his trench coat to pick the folded papers from the pocket and handed to the prophet. Kevin frowned, bit puzzled until he unfolded the pages.

His face went white.

"Cas . . . this is—where did you get this?" He jerked his head, his voice accusing, "You told _me_ nothing happened."

His reaction wasn't surprising or favorable. "I spoke the truth. Nothing happened, at least not in the magnitude you're thinking of."

"Then what is this?" He shook the pages furiously on the air.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

"It's the Word of God, Cas!" Snapping his eyes back to Castiel, little frightened, "Wait? You came here because you want me to translate it?"

"If you can." He said quietly, "I know it's the last thing you want to do but I'm hoping you can."

Kevin pinched the bridge his nose, "I don't know . . . god, this—this suck. I thought that part of my life was _over_."

"I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to come here."

"But you came here anyway!" He snapped, "Why you _guys_ won't stay away!"

Castiel flinched, not expecting his anger to hurt him.

Kevin stopped, gaping. "Cas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Stop." He said, "You don't need to apologize."

"But you don't understand, I—"

His hand rested on Kevin's shoulder, effectively silencing him, "Your anger is understandable and you have every right to be mad at the circumstances, even at me." He told him gently.

The frail adolescent boy, frightened by his sudden destiny as prophet had returned to Kevin's gaze. "But I'm not angry at you."

Castiel had the sudden strange desire to comfort him just the way Kevin had comforted him once and then he remembered something.

"Kevin, may I tell you story?"

Kevin caught off guard, he ventured doubtfully, "Um . . . okay?"

"Once upon a time, there was a man who endured a lot disappointment and pain in his life but he put the bad behind him and made peace with it. He also he took the best with him because he's kind and good."

Kevin's frown cleared away, replaced with realization. "Wait a minute . . . I told you that!"

"_That_ applies to you too." His voice was affectionate, "Don't forget, this same man told me that it was okay to scream at the world because it was part being human."

He let out a wet, surprised laugh. "God, did I say that?"

"Yes, you did." Castiel's lip twitched.

He let out a noise that sounded between snort and groan, "That was terrible advice."

"I don't know if it's terrible," He said slowly, "but it helped me."

"Especially the part screaming and hollering outside the bunker until Sam demanded us to stop?" Kevin asked with a wide open grin.

"Especially that one." He told him fondly.

Kevin chuckled, "Yeah. . . " He trailed off, his face slowly becoming somber as he stared down at the papers.

As if sensing the fear slowly building inside the man, the angel said, "Kevin, you don't have to if you don't want to."

Kevin mulled over that quietly and Castiel almost wanted him to say yes—almost, but the angel knew all too well the want and need never went together seamlessly.

"Can I think about it?"

The angel's expression was sort of grateful, "Of course."

Kevin's watch beeped again, and they both blinked.

"Time's up." Kevin said, sounding a little regretful, handing the pages back to him, "I gotta go."

Castiel acknowledged with a nod, grabbing the papers, "You know how to reach me."

Kevin stood for a couple of beat and then surprised the angel again with another hug. "It was good to see you, Cas. Don't be a stranger, okay?" He said to his shoulder, "I missed you."

Suddenly, Castiel felt his throat tight. He had forgotten this, the sense of friendship, the sensation of having someone to worry for his well-being and finding himself caring the others. The angel wanted to say, _I missed you, too, _but he found he couldn't.

Then Kevin stepped away and Castiel watched him wave his hand as he disappeared around the corner.

"Look, mommy!" A childish voice cried, "A comet!"

Castiel turned to look at the little girl tugging her mother's skirt, pointing her tiny finger up the night sky. He followed the direction of her finger and saw it. A flash trail of light, bright against the atmosphere.

"Sweetie, that's not a comet." He heard the mother say, "Its meteor."

It was neither. It was an angel falling, its grace rent away for rebirth, for a human life.

It was almost reminiscent of the time when he looked through canopy of the trees, in Colorado, watching thousands of them; streaks of light, angels enveloped by burning grace, its wings tearing away, and Castiel feeling the first crippling human emotions, dread, horror and fear as he witnessed Metatron's spell.

But this it was different. This time the angel was falling to their own free will.

"It's beautiful, mommy."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Last time he'd seen Jody Mills was in grassland, just outside the remnants of the church, worse for wear with dirt and blood splattered on her civilian shirt and looking shell-shocked.

That was long time ago. He hadn't seen her or heard from her since that fateful day and to say he was taken by surprise to hear one of her prayer was an understatement.

_"Castiel, er . . . I don't know how to do this but what the heck, what I do I have to lose? Well, except looking ridiculous calling up the sky. Um, yeah . . . I got something for you that you need to see. It's important."_

"What's important?"

Sheriff Mills jumped, whirling around, "Holy shit!" Her hand went to her chest when she saw the angel standing right next to her in the middle empty road, "Don't do that or you're going to send me to early grave!"

"You said I needed to see something."

Jody blinked, "Well, hello to you too."

"Hello." He politely said back, "What did you need me to see?"

The sheriff stared at him incredulously, "Boy, when you're all business, you sure don't beat around the bush, do ya?"

Castiel stared back.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Okay, I see you're going be like this." Jody grumbled, moving to her parked, police car as she opened the driver's door, "Crowley gave me call from the other day and asked me to check up something."

The angel's eyes widened. "Crowley talks to you?"

The Sheriff began to chuckle, low and rasping as she rested her arm on the door, "Oh, yeah. I bet you weren't expecting me to consort a guy who tried to kill me in first place to get back the Winchester boys, did you?"

"I haven't forgotten the moment you shot his stomach." He pointed out and then added, "Twice."

"I was aiming for his balls." She admitted sheepishly, and then with a shrug, "Be that as it may, after what happened at the church we found it was easy to bury the hatchet between us."

It was times like this he found himself entirely uncomprehending the human emotions. He tried to understand but failed.

Jody went on, "So, we're working together, not much but enough just to keep in touch. He calls me up to check on something he can't find on police reports and I call him up when I don't have any clue to kill the monsters."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, "You're hunter."

"Part-time hunter. I gotta work, you know." Jody gestured her Sheriff's pale brown uniform. "Beside, I'm the one who found those demons, not Crowley. He came in the scene later."

He frowned, processing this new information, "He didn't tell me that. When did you find those demons?"

"Just four months ago . . . well those that I found." She amended, "At first, Will and I didn't know it was demon—"

"Will?" Castiel interrupted with a frown.

Jody blinked at the question and then she realized, "Oh, you didn't know?" She pointed one of her fingers where a gold band rested on it, "Will's my husband. He's hunter too."

"Oh." Castiel said and he felt a pang in his chest, feeling suddenly lost.

Castiel didn't realize he had grown used in solitude while others built their lives back from the ruins of an old life, rebuilt their dreams and had changed to better people. Sam was a retired hunter, a lawyer with a steady job and lived with a woman he loved, the one who didn't die because of him. Kevin was on the way to doctor, grown up to strong and vibrant man who worries of his mom's antic sometimes. Even Crowley found a sense of purpose on Earth, relinquishing reluctantly his old life as king of Hell.

Compared to them, he was ghost, unaware of time and life.

He thought what Dean would think of him now if he had been alive and seen him. Suddenly, the angel felt ashamed of himself.

His dark reflection was jarred from a concerned voice, "Hey, you okay there, kiddo?"

A startled look appeared on his face before he settled into is usual calm expression. "Yes." He said, "I would like you to continue from the part where you left."

The sheriff looked at him skeptically but she did as requested, "We thought it was a rugaru on account of cannibalism. So, Will and I took off to North Dakota after trail of dead bodies. We found them just the outskirt of the Valley city, four of them." Jody swallowed, her eyes distant with memories, "I was taken off guard when I saw a man's eyes turn black and I knew we were pretty screwed. We barely got out there with our lives, Will got hurt badly and I just had to stop everything and leave the city entirely."

The sheriff looked regretful and ashamed when she admitted but Castiel wanted to tell her that she didn't have to. He knew from Dean that Jody suffered a lot in her life, her son and husband taken away and he didn't blame her putting Will's life over the others. How could he, given all the actions he had committed to protect Dean? He doubted there was anything Jody would say that would make him think less of her.

"After we arrived back home, I called Crowley." She went on, her lips thinning, "He laughed for ten minutes."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, frowning.

"He didn't believe me." Jody clarified for him and Castiel wisely didn't mention he didn't also believe when he heard the earthbound demons until he saw the said creature in Crowley's dungeon. "I spent whole day trying to explain him but since the stubborn bastard was having far too much needling me, I soon gave up and hanged."

"But Crowley believes."

"Not then. Not until he went to North Dakota himself for sake of curiosity." She groused unhappily, "_Then_ he believed me."

"If does help, Crowley is putting all his effort to stop them."

"I know. He's only doing this because he finds intriguing and from there he sort took it over." Her voice sounded grateful. "I'm mostly doing research while he does grunt work and speaking of research. . ."

Jody bent inside the passenger side of the car for a second, pulling a cardboard box. The sheriff moved around the car to set the box on the hood, taking the box off to reveal dozen manila folders inside.

She rummaged around the folder with her fingers, skimming at the labels. "Crowley's keeping me updated with the case and few days ago he asked me to look something specific, something about the hunter."

His lips thinned. He didn't like where this was going.

"He thought the hunter was Sam." She told him carefully.

"It's not Sam." He objected firmly.

"I know." Jody agreed without hesitation.

His face must have shown confusion because she proceeded to explain.

"Sam calls me when he can. One of those cases happened on March 25 in Nebraska and Sam phoned in that same day. The reason I remember it because it was the anniversary of . . ." Her eyes went misty.

She didn't have to explain the rest. Her trailing silence was his answer enough.

"I'm sorry."

She acknowledged the apology with a jerky nod, blinking her tears away, continuing, "I traced the call just in case. Sam was still in Maine and unless he had the angel express, I see no way how he can be in Nebraska for a short time."

Something in his chest had lightened from the heavy weight he hadn't known it had existed in first place.

"Got it." She pulled the desired folder and handed to him. "Here."

Castiel took the folder from her and opened to find arrays of photographs. His eyes were wide open as he looked the pictures. Many of them had featured bodies that looked it had spontaneously combusted halfway while the rest of their body parts looked burnt to crisp, along with surroundings.

"Crowley asked me to find if there was any related case about weird arson or disappearance that involves with scorch marks in someone's residence and sure enough, I found five arson stretching far back as six months ago."

He moved page to page, studying the details closely with intense concentration. They all looked the same, burnt places, strange deaths.

"And here's the weird thing, those four cases was classified as accident because they couldn't find the source of the arson but this—" Jody moved to flip the last pictures in the folder, "—was dubbed as murder."

Castiel could understand why. The picture showed two metal chairs joined together at the back in the center of the unfinished concrete loft. The place was intact but the chairs only showed sign of fire, the metal looking deformed and melted to places with scorch marks. There were blackened appendages scattered around the chair and string of singed ropes hanging on the armrest.

"This case's very recent, barely two days old from Idaho, after the warehouse."

"He's testing the bomb on demons and minimizing the surrounding damages." He realized slowly.

She nodded, "Yes, he's getting better."

Castiel looked up, "This is strange."

"Tell me about it, demons popping all around when they're supposed to be extinct and a hunter going Vader on them."

"That's not what I meant." The angel said, "I'm disturbed how the hunter is finding them easily whereas I'm having the trouble figuring where they are." He didn't add the fact he couldn't even sense them.

"Maybe he's finding the same way we did? By accident?" Jody guessed.

"Maybe," He said skeptically, "But there are too many coincidences to be considered as accidents and there's the dilemma of demons would never stay in one place. Their patterns are bit problematic to follow, even with that, the chances to find them is very remote."

"You think this hunter is affiliated with them?"

He considered it for a moment, "I don't know if he is but now I know what I have to do."

"What's that?"

There was determination in his eyes, a sign of life as he said, "I have to find him."

* * *

It took him a few days for Castiel to figure way to find the hunter but even as he had an idea, he wasn't confident he would be successful.

Apparently, Crowley felt the same as they both appeared in middle of the sidewalk, "Are you sure you want to go down to that yellow brick road?"

"Yes." He lied.

Crowley looked skeptical, "I don't want to point this out but sometime you're closer to the insane side in the angel spectrum which don't get me wrong, it's fun—it's like watching stormtrooper pressing the button, accidentally activating the Death Ray in a galaxy far, far, far away—but I'm dreading we reached to the part where it's no longer for giggles."

"Then what do you suggest?" He all but snapped, irritated.

"Nothing." Crowley said easily, bit too cheerfully, "I've no qualm standing back while Van Helsing tears those little brats a new one."

"That may be but we still need find the demons and he seems to know where they are. Perhaps, he can lead us to the source that is creating the earthbound demons in first place."

Crowley shrugged. "I still vote to stand back."

"Then go." Castiel's tone was short and clipped, "I'm capable investigating myself."

"And let you have all the fun? Nope."

Castiel gave him an unimpressed glower and turned around to look around and saw the window glass featuring gold and silvers jewelries. "Is this the one? The pawn shop?"

"Yep, Hitchcock's Goldmine." He said and then Crowley began to snigger next to him.

He frowned, turning back to look at Crowley. "What?"

Crowley pointed up. Castiel lifted his gaze and saw the sign letters above the shop and found that the letter of 'Hitch' and the apostrophe were missing from it.

He wiggled his eyebrows, "Cocks Goldmines, get it?"

"I don't understand what you do find humorous about domesticated fowl and ores." Castiel tilted his head, bewildered.

It took Crowley a few moments to register Castiel's words and when he did, he rolled his eyes, "Only you would miss something _that_ obvious."

Castiel's confused expression didn't change.

"Whatever." Crowley muttered, "Let just go inside but remember—"

"—I shouldn't talk. You said it twice." Castiel leveled him a glare, "I still fail to see the point for this pretense."

"You don't have to. Just stand there and look . . . whatever you do with that intense staring." Crowley stated as he slid into the pawn shop, the bell chiming at his entrance.

Castiel followed him inside, peering curiously at the cheap looking watches, necklaces and trinkets hanging on the racks. He frowned at the assortment of crazy colored bongs, pipe and cigarettes holder on display inside the glass counter.

A door from storage opened and a thin, tattooed, gangly man stepped from it only to freeze in his track when he spied Crowley near the spinning racks.

Crowley's lips stretched wide into a slow smile that didn't look even remotely friendly, "Billy, darling."

"Crowley, I t-thought—" Billy stopped himself and Castiel thought the man looked pale and frightened.

"Dead?" He guessed, "Nope, I'm still kicking. By the way, how's Jenna? Last time I saw her she was rather . . ." He trailed as he searched of a word, snapping his finger as he found it, "bendy."

Billy's eyes flickered with a hint of anger, and then he forced himself to smile although it didn't reach his eyes. "Who's the friend?"

"Oh, him?" Crowley spared a look toward Castiel and said, "He's my superpowered dog." The former demon's smile turned into devious grin, "Arf."

Castiel's look directed to Crowley wasn't kind.

"He's bit finicky." Crowley went on, still grinning, "He doesn't like seeing me upset and I'm having the trouble controlling him because he's likes to bite to those who doesn't make me happy."

Billy's fake smile faltered, his eyes flying to the Castiel with a hint of fear in his eyes before sneaking glance anxiously at the exit sign across the wall.

Castiel noted that Crowley seemed to revel at Billy's discomfort as the former demon moved closer to scan a watches lying on the counter, prolonging the tension in the silence.

"What do you want?" The man asked after a minute.

"Isn't that obvious? I'm here for business." Crowley said breezily, pulling a paper from his breast pocket and slid forward on the counter close to Billy.

Billy's eyes studied Crowley slowly, unsure. Then finally, he trudged himself forward with an exaggerated caution, as if fearing provoking a dangerous animal, his hand tentatively grabbing the paper.

Castiel was watching Billy closely and he felt a surge of hope when there was a flicker of recognition in Billy's eyes as he read the list of the ingredients of Demon bomb.

"This will be hard to get." Billy said hesitantly, glancing up. "Most of them are extremely rare and across the world."

"You misunderstand me. I don't want you to look for them."

The man's expression was bewildered, "Then what is this list for?"

"This is for you to tell me who had ordered exactly from these ingredients."

Billy was silent for a moment, eyes going distant to shuttered.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about because nobody came looking for this ingredients except you." He said, pushing the page toward Crowley without touching him, "Sorry I can't be much help."

There was another moment of the silence before Crowley spoke.

"Billy, Billy. You don't—"

"I don't have time for this."

It was Castiel who said this for the first time since he entered the pawn shop, startling Billy and Crowley.

What happened next took Crowley completely by surprise. One moment Billy was standing and the next he was flung backwards to the wall with a surprised scream. The drywall crumpled and cracked against the impact as Billy crashed against it. Castiel followed his body in a blur as he slammed the man bodily again to the wall. The force was so hard that it made the entire shop vibrate, the glass rattle, the jewelries clinking and the spinning rack tremble.

"Either you tell us who ordered this ingredients or I shall lay you waste and _believe_ me when I say you will feel every inch of it." Castiel ordered with a growl, practically inches away from Billy's face, his hands fisted on his sweater.

"Put him down, Cas." Crowley said calmly over Castiel's shoulder.

"Your way is slow." Castiel said to Crowley, his voice vibrating with determination, ignoring as the man struggled frantically from his grasp. "Mine is faster."

"Put me down!"

Castiel manhandled the man further the wall, rising him higher until Billy's shoes was scrambling to reach the floor. The angel watched Billy's thin face go white as sheet, his eyes bulging in fear and Castiel took a grim satisfaction upon seeing it.

"Tell me." Castiel demanded.

"Please, man, I don't know anything—"

Billy's words were cut off when Castiel yanked him forward and then slammed the man back to the wall, deepening the dent on the drywall further inside, causing to emit dust of plaster everywhere in short burst.

"Try again."

"Okay! Okay! Please, stop!" The man yelled in panic, clutching the angel's wrists, "I'll tell you everything, please just stop!"

"Tell me."

Billy nodded frantically, "Yes, yes, okay. His name is Jason."

"Jason who?"

"I don't know! He never told me his last name. He just came here, ten or nine months ago, asking the ingredients. It took me awhile to get them because they're almost fucking _impossible_ to find." He blabbed, gasping between breaths.

"And what did you get out of it?" Castiel heard Crowley inquire curiously.

"Nothing!" He said quickly, too quickly.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Do not test me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He stammered.

Castiel's eyes suddenly glowed, blue light ringing is irises and Billy shrieked when he heard the sound of wings beating.

"Demon's blood!" He exclaimed, "He gave me syringes of demon's blood. They're rarer than those ingredients."

Billy was relieved to see the light fading from Castiel's eyes and heard Crowley ask, "What for?"

"Science, man. I may not look at it but I was Hematologist before I entered into this side." Billy hurried to explain, fearing at the new urgency flashing behind Castiel's eyes, "I just wanted to see them under microscope." Billy choked as Castiel pressed him harder to the wall. "Nothing bad, I swear to god! Please!"

The pressure lightened just a bit.

Billy gulped, "Yeah, I—eventually, he kept coming back for them and I-I-I kept extra batch for him just in case he would come back and of course, he does."

"What's the last time he came here?"

The man blinked at the question, "Last time? Oh, man. It was few days ago but he didn't come here, not exactly." He hesitated for a moment until he felt Castiel's fingers tighten on his sweater, "H-he called me asking if I could send the double batches to him."

"Did you?"

He nodded frantically, "Yeah, I did."

Castiel leaned closer, his voice threatening and demanding at the same time, "Where?"

Billy couldn't help but swallow, "Idaho. I sent it to Idaho."

"Where _specifically_?"

"The direction i-is over t-there, man." The man's finger shook badly as he pointed over Castiel's shoulder. "I-I can get that for you."

Castiel released him. Billy let out a loud 'oft' as his feet slapped the floor and then Billy just stared at the angel in combination of horror and fear before he scrambled to the counter, rummaging the receipts and notes, next to cashier.

"There!" He squeaked triumphantly, lifting the small piece of paper to the air.

The angel was across the distance with another flutter of wings as he grabbed the paper from Billy's finger, and then pressed two fingers at the man's forehead. Billy flinched before he crashed to the floor, unconscious.

"That's bit extreme, even for you." Crowley commented, his voice carefully neutral. "You should've been teensy nicer."

Castiel frowned slightly as he regarded the former King of the Hell, "I cannot afford play nice to someone's feeling when the demons roam free on earth."

"You used to."

"And you used to break someone's bone with a single snap of fingers."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, "Your point?"

"We're not the same person we were." Castiel said flatly, "I'll be pleased if you stop assuming that I am."

Crowley blinked at him then snarked disdainfully. "If Dean was still here to see what you've become; I don't think he would be ecstatic."

The words were a slap to Castiel as he staggered at the weight of it, hitting directly at Castiel's chest like an angel's blade.

Castiel tore his gaze, staring through the window, unseeing. "Then, it's good he's not here to see me."

His own words hurt deeper than Crowley. It made his chest tight; all the emotion he kept lidded with his grace had burst and clambered out in the open with a howling scream. Castiel shoved them down back within the grace.

The silence lingered, strung and taut with tension as if Crowley had realized he had overstepped the line he wasn't supposed to cross.

"Well, are you going?" Crowley asked, there was hint of wariness in his tone.

"Yes." His voice was cold as Arctic Ocean, "Are you coming?"

"Nope."

Castiel's eyes flickered back at Crowley, "Why?"

Crowley gave him the _look_, the one that said _you're moronic than I thought,_ "A demon hunter packing with a Demon bomb? It would be _Battle of Thermopyale_. Even with the tiny drop of demon in me, the bomb will still roast me alive and it won't be quick, painless death."

The angel stared at Crowley steadily. He hadn't considered this, however, it made sense.

It explained Crowley's reluctance to look for the hunter and his games of wits with Billy to delay it. In short, it made Castiel realize how Crowley struggled with his newfound morality where death is truly permanent. It almost made Castiel pity him.

"I see." He simply said but he really didn't.

Instead, he decided not to and disappeared to Idaho, leaving Crowley alone with unconscious Billy.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Castiel didn't rush this time like the warehouse, having learnt his lesson.

He materialized through blink of an eye and appeared mile from the motel in a lonely road just off the highway where the sound of traffic was heard. He felt the crackle of static through his grace and looked up at the night sky. In the distance he saw bolts of lightning streaking through the ominous clouds all grey and shade of black.

A storm was coming.

He turned to look at the road, paying no attention at the dark weather, choosing instead to broaden his grace far as they can reach for any hint of demonic presence or the familiar spoor of the hunter.

Startled, his head snapped up at the direction east, where he could see a silhouette of a dreary motel far in the horizon.

His grace sensed seven earthbound demons and very _alone_ hunter—the rest was unaware.

He felt echo of fight: a door blown from the hinges, jeer of laughter, residue of gunpowder in the air, thrown punches, crash against furniture and sound of male voice, cursing, _you son of bitches_.

The hunter was fighting back against the swarm of demons.

Castiel snapped his wings open far as they could and shot forward through the dimension, slicing the air like a knife through butter until he was facing one of the demon's back inside the motel. His hand shot forward and gripped her head, forcing his grace into her. The demon's eyes burst with a white light, her mouth open with a silent scream.

When Castiel released the demon, she dropped to the ground dead.

The rest of them shrieked.

Castiel spared a survey around, calculating his options. He saw five demons swarming toward him while the other was fighting against the hunter, unaware of the sudden angelic presence.

His attention was split when someone screamed. "_Angel_!"

His sword slid into his palm, clutching the handle and Castiel lunged to the nearest one, striking the demon easily with a sharp jab through his chest. Then, Castiel moved to the next while trying to reach to the hunter. A grunt and sound of fist hitting flesh was confirmation enough for Castiel to deduce the hunter was still fighting to his death but he preferred there would be no death on his part.

After he slain the current one he was fighting, he heard a suspicious sound, alerting him. Castiel felt a shift in the air—two demons jumping at his sides. His angelic sword dropped to another plane, Castiel quickly raised his hands without looking, clutching the both demons in midair lunge at the throat. Ignoring the grunt and the struggle from both of them, Castiel tightened his fingers, crunching the man's and woman's larynx. Their black-eyed and mouths exploded into bright, streaming white light with a howling screams.

Castiel lips thinned in distaste, dropping the smote demons aside.

However a glimpse through the corner of Castiel's eyes made him pause, the hunter fell to his knee. The demon took advantage of his injury, kicking the hunter's face, sending him sprawled to the floor spread eagled. For the first time since the battle, he saw the hunter's face, clearly.

Castiel's world shifted and pivoted, like the deck of a storm-tossed ship before sinking. Through it all, his first thought was:

_Dean_.

Brown colored hair, viridian eyes flashing in pain and rage, his split-open lips shaped into snarl as he looked up at the demon that kicked him down. It was Dean's face, down to the last details.

Castiel knew appearances were easy to manipulate: spells, shifting skills, angelic or godlike powers but the soul . . . _that_ would never change. It might grow deformed, darkened, bruised, brighter, stony and opaque yet the core would still remain the same.

Dean's soul—bright and incomplete—was the one convinced Castiel, it was without a doubt: Dean Winchester.

His shocked thoughts were cut off when the demon that had kicked Dean pulled out a knife and lunged toward Dean and Castiel had terrible flashback of Dean bleeding, dying in his arm as he begged him hysterically, _"Hold on, hold on. Please, don't go. Dean? Dean!"_

Castiel's reaction was instinctual. It was so sudden that he didn't have moment to think as the grace within him burst open, tearing his skin apart and he only had few seconds to shout:

"Close your eyes!"

The grace exploded, like a sun going supernova with a loud rushing sound. It was an almost alien feeling, having _him_, the grace that made _Castiel_ pierce through Jimmy's pore, eyes and mouth, whitening everything. He felt himself grow _infinite _and _colossal—_a Chrysler sized building woven with kaleidoscopic brilliance—almost reaching toward the stormy clouds above as the lighting thundered just over his head and the world slips away, leaving him floundering, helpless.

Castiel looked down, through the motel, through the room and saw Dean recoiling in the blinding light, so small in this height and it made the angel wonder how such microscopic mortal could make him _feel_ so much. Only him.

He wondered for a moment if this was real. If this was some trace of magic of a witch or a poison of a Djinn making his mind to play cruel tricks. Memories he had pushed with his grace, good and bad, returned with the force of train freight, all coming at once in shocking chaos and confusion.

He forced himself back into the Jimmy Novak's vessel, his blue eyes opening, barely aware of the recently dead demons' gaping sockets, still smoking. No, his stare was on Dean who blinked his eyes open, confused at the nearest smote demon.

"Dean." He whispered, his voice hoarse with every emotion bubbling inside him.

Dean's head jerked so fast that Castiel recoiled instinctively, shaken to see wide green eyes on him and he felt raw, scrapped and gutted. He looked exactly the same as the last time Castiel saw him except for the blood.

"It's not possible." Castiel said shakily, "You're—how this can be?"

Dean shot to his feet, fast as humanly possible, and his eyes alert and wary and Castiel sensed something was missing in Dean's eyes.

Castiel had expected a hug or laugher or a smart-ass remark or even a punch but what he didn't expect was this:

"What the hell are _you_?"

He staggered in shock by the enormity of the situation, his stomach plummeting, suddenly understanding what was missing in Dean's eyes: recognition.

"Dean, don't you remember me?" He stepped closer to him, wanting to touch him, to see if he was real and not figment of his imagination.

"Don't come any closer!" He grabbed the knife from the dead demon's grasp, raising it. "God help me I'll slice your throat if you do."

The angel stopped and he could hear something in his heart crack when he almost echoed Dean's word, "It's me, Cas."

It didn't change Dean's reaction, not even a flicker, "Cas what?"

"Castiel." He whispered and hoped Dean wouldn't call him that. Never that, not like this.

"No last name?"

Castiel shook his head, staring helplessly at Dean.

Dean shifted uneasily, his eyes flicking at the bathroom's open door then back to Castiel, "Look, I appreciate you for saving my ass but I don't know what you're trying here because I sure hell don't know you."

"I know you." Castiel said, his voice laden with hurt mixed with tentative hope, "We're friend."

Dean stepped backward, toward the bathroom, sidestepping the corpses carefully while keeping his eyes on the angel and keeping the knife front of him. "Sure, whatever you say. You didn't answer my question. What are you?"

"I'm Angel of the Lord."

That got a reaction. "No shit?"

Castiel frowned at him, "I almost expected you say 'there no such thing.'"

"Why?"

Since Dean didn't remember Castiel it stood reason that Dean had reverted to his old beliefs. Atheist to the heart even Dean had proof of their existence. "Because you didn't believe in them. You had no faith."

Dean grinned, his teeth bloodstained, "That's sounds like me." He took one step back more, "You're right. I don't believe them but I knew they existed. I don't know why but I do. Do you know why?"

The angel struggled to understand Dean's words, "No."

Dean's free hand reached the doorknob behind him, scrambling a bit since he couldn't see behind, his eyes still on Castiel, "Because whenever I go to a new place, I felt the urge to do something—something to draw or even freaking paint. It always made me feel I was going crazy—Marvin Boggs to the whole level."

The bathroom door jerked, closing with a loud click. A finger-painted symbol was plain on the wooden surface, entirely made with dried blood.

Angel banishing sigil.

It made Castiel's every inch of grace run cold.

Dean smiled grimly as he drew the blade on his palm with one swift, practiced gesture and slapped his bloodied hand on the center of the sigil.

"No! Dean, _wait_!"

He lunged at Dean but it was too late. His grace reacted at the banishing, flaring out, bright and painful and Castiel watched the motel, the dead demons and Dean's face disappear as he was cast away into the light.

His wings ached and Castiel wanted nothing more wallow in his misery or cry but he was not certain which to pick one, maybe both. It was foreign emotions that it could not detach from one to the other with thin double-edged swords and it left the angel sitting forlornly alone in the middle of the cornfield.

Despite his turbulent emotions, he was mostly confused and angry. Dean didn't recognize him, had banished him and if Castiel would have flown back to the motel, he knew Dean would not be there. He was long gone.

Was Castiel erased from Dean's mind and memories he'd known smiled, shouted, frowned and laughed?

Was he truly that unimportant?

With that thought, Castiel felt a crippling pain in his chest, one far greater than caused by fear of his brothers falling, fleeing for his life, Dean telling him that he could not stay, living as Steve, feeling his human's rage, sadness and hopelessness fester and fester into him.

Castiel touched his chest with a tentative finger, as if to see if that emotion could be held with his hand and he took a deep breath, a raw deep breath, unshed tears springing into his eyes as he felt Dean's rejection throb in a painful, unsteady rhythm.

However, through that confusion, there was a flicker of hope, followed by a slow epiphany, like a sun rising behind the mountain.

It didn't matter what he felt. It didn't matter that Dean didn't recognize him. It didn't matter that Dean had banished him, cast away because he believed Castiel was another enemy.

The only thing that mattered is that Dean was _alive_.

"Dean's alive." Castiel whispered, tasting the words.

It was difficult to believe and even harder to hear aloud. He said again, this time louder.

"Dean's alive."

The seven years grief that was buried by grace, the one that refused to be erased by it, the one it made him feel as if he could truly die by the enormity of it. He had wished to—God, how he had _wished _to die, not to live in heaven, hell or purgatory or in any form of afterlife, just to stop existing altogether. And now that grief was easing with each utterance.

Louder, he said, "Dean's alive."

The grief that could not be killed by grace had truly died in his chest and it was sledgehammer of happiness, peace that had slain it. It was like spreading his wings and flew through the stars, seeing Dean's smile, kissing Meg for the first time, the ice cream he tasted, the warmth of coffee, the woman he touched, the serenity of a sunset or sunrise, the first successful hunt, the hardworking sweat of accomplishment made with his bare, human hands, the laugher that could not stop until his chest hurt and cried.

"Dean's alive!" He shouted so loudly, like he shouted with Kevin, outside at the bunker, arms raised high, face facing the sky. Shouting until his throat felt scraped and hoarse. Shouting until he couldn't use his voice.

"_Dean is alive_!"

He laughed and it came out surprised. He opened his eyes, watching the thousand luminous stars above him, feeling content through the grace. He felt at peace and he didn't even care there was a rustle of tall plants moving, indicating that someone was behind him in the cornfield.

"Mister?"

Castiel turned and saw a boy, no older than ten, in his pajamas that featured cars and a flashlight on his hand. The boy looked at him with wide eyes.

"I saw the light." The boy said, full of wonder and fear, "Are you alien, mister?"

The angel stared at the boy for a long moment then he laughed, he laughed so hard that there were tears in his eyes.


End file.
